The Malignant
by jambled
Summary: Kirsten gets a dignosis she's been dreading.
1. The Finding

It had all started innocently; the boys away at college, Kirsten in the kitchen, apron neatly tied, cooking them both dinner. She'd looked up at him as he'd come in, and he'd sensed something as he looked at his wife; some carnal instinct knocked loose after a hellish day at the office where his moral compass had been tested and magnetically pulled away from its usual, righteous resting place.

She'd come over to give him a greeting kiss, and he'd held her close, dropping his briefcase to the floor. Her hair was pulled back to the nape of her neck, out of her way while she was cooking. Several strands had sprung loose, cascading like frozen waterfalls around her slender neck. Her eyes still bore the tracings of mascara from her day, and her lips were slightly glossed at the edges. She'd smiled at him, sensing his need straight away. Twenty years, and they were so finely tuned. Sandy just prayed she didn't sense the why behind it, the reason he needed a release. Kirsten was in jeans, and he tugged them off. She tried to lead him to the bedroom, but he held her in place, her eyes flashing at him with the knowledge that anyone could come in. Sandy wanted to remind her that Seth was across the country, and Ryan… Well, they weren't expecting him.

Sandy took her quickly, surprisingly, ardently. Kirsten had responded in turn, and he was reminded of when they were younger, before Seth, when they did it anywhere, everywhere. His hands moved up from her firm stomach, teased at the bottom of her shirt before tracing their way up to her breasts. Kirsten leant forward, shared a kiss with him, arcing her back so he needed to reach to feel the softness in the swell of her chest.

He almost froze when one hand found a lump the other hand didn't encounter. Sandy's quick intake of breath prompted her to open her eyes, stare blue into blue. She'd looked down, an acknowledgement of the fear both of them had since her mother was claimed by it, that had found its way closer to home since his mother was diagnosed. They'd redressed, and now here they were, staring at each other across the table, hands touching, the makings of dinner neglected, fear palpable.

"Have you felt it before now?" Sandy asked. Kirsten looked away from him. Her hair had nearly all fallen out, was kinked from being tied up.

"Just last week." She said. He had to strain to hear her.

"Have-." He was cut off as Kirsten turned back to him.

"I saw a doctor on Friday. I'm going to see a specialist on Tuesday… Tomorrow. They're going to do some tests. Find out what it is." As she answered his unasked question, he felt her shaky breath as much as heard it, held her fingers tighter in his.

"Were you going to tell me?" He asked, as she looked away again. His eyes, intent on her face, on the emotion it was aching to show, barely caught her nod.

"I was going to wait until I knew something. I didn't want to worry you, with everything that's going on at the Newport Group. I just… I needed to know it was actually something before I worried more than one of us." Sandy reached a hand out, leant over so he could trail it down her face. She was ethereal in the light, typical in her reaction. Hailey was always the one ruffling feathers, while Kirsten smoothed everything out. She preferred to keep something like this to herself, hold the cold feeling of aching fear inside her while she waited for the results. Until she knew it was benign or malignant, Sandy was betting she wouldn't have told him for fear of placing more stress on him. Never mind that she was wondering if the gene that had taken her mother had been passed on to her.

"I love you, and we're going to get through this. You're going to be fine." Sandy sounded more confident than he felt, was aware Kirsten could tell if she wanted to. Her eyes met his. She needed to believe it more than he did, so she trusted his statement.

"I know."


	2. The Results

_So… I know Kirsten's mother had ovarian cancer, not breast, I was just comparing the fact that they both had cancer… Which is why I linked the Nana in as well… Hope that explains it a bit better._

"The biopsy returned results that I was hoping we wouldn't see." Kirsten was looking at the doctor as he spoke, resisting the urge to look away, stemming the tears that were threatening. When she first found the lump, she'd been in the shower. It was a fair size; not large enough to be able to see, but big enough that she'd thought she'd have felt it before now. Or that Sandy would have. She'd probed at it with her fingers, feeling a dull ache every time she touched it. She'd remembered her mother, towards the end, lying in her bed at home, her eyes sunken, skin waxy. With a sudden gasp, Kirsten had needed to slide to the floor, bow her head under the torrential shower downpour. She didn't want this. She didn't need a life sentence handed to her, didn't need drugs and chemo and everyone's pity. She didn't need the last year, hellish and hard as it was, to have been in vain. Her mother had been a drinker, and Kirsten had succeeded to pick up that bad habit, as well as drop it. Her mother had died of cancer, and Kirsten had started praying then that she wouldn't follow that family history as accurately.

"What is it?" Kirsten asked him, feeling grateful that he was so businesslike. If he'd looked at her with sympathy, handed her a box of tissues or come around to touch her with a comforting arm, like Sandy might, Kristen knew she'd lose the calm façade she was so far presenting.

"A malignant growth. We need you back in here to get the rest, as well as to check your lymph nodes, in case it's spread." Kirsten knew what was coming, had been to endless appointments with her mother, but it was still a shock for those words to be addressed to her personally.

"When?" Kirsten had her arms folded, as if to ward off the bad news, insulate it from herself. She knew it was stupid, knew it was she who was hibernating the cancer deep within her, even more so with folded arms.

"As soon as possible. Tomorrow, if you can. I've already called the private hospital. We can get you in by nine, have the procedure over by twelve, if all goes well. We'll know more about chemo and radiotherapy options after then. I advise strongly about getting this done as soon as possible." Kirsten smiled bleakly, felt herself nod. She knew what the doctor was saying; the sooner, the better. And whenever they wanted you in there straight away, you knew it was bad.

"Great. If you can get yourself to admissions by seven thirty, we can have you prepped and introduced to the surgical team before we put you under. No food after six thirty tonight, no liquids after midnight. Fill in these forms and bring them with you…" The doctor handed her an envelope, thick with questions that she knew would be about lifestyle, diet, genetic predisposition to something like this.

"Mrs Cohen, we have one of the finest medical institutions. We're going to do everything we can." As the doctor stood, so did Kirsten, albeit on shakier legs. She nodded at him as she left, knowing that he hadn't said she'd come through this. Hadn't said she'd be fine.

Outside the doctor's office, Kirsten waited a moment, looked at the time. Sandy would be on lunch. She knew he had been on tenterhooks as much as she had this morning. Knew he'd wanted to come along with her but she, knowing she couldn't hold it together if he was there and it was news like she'd heard, had told him she'd be fine, and that she'd call him. Kirsten debated with herself. She needed to tell someone, but at the same time, leaving the cold, cruel fact unspoken might be able to delay it becoming a reality. She could have a coffee, fill out the forms in an impersonal café so that a place at her kitchen table wouldn't have to remind her of the day she was told she had cancer. Tucking the file under her arm, Kirsten walked the short distance across the hospital lawn to the row of elitist cafés smattered amongst florist shops. Choosing the nearest one, Kirsten ordered a cappuccino and sank gratefully onto a chair at the only unoccupied table. She checked her watch, knowing Sandy would be back at work; probably unable to concentrate. She felt selfish, waiting to tell him. She felt sick, having to give him this kind of news. Sighing, ignoring the growing squirm in her stomach from the reality of it starting to sink in, Kirsten found a pen after several minutes of serious ruffling through her handbag and turned to the first page of the questionnaire.

After an hour, three coffees and several bouts of willing herself not to burst into tears, Kirsten shut the file. She leant back in the chair and stretched, feeling the stitches from the biopsy pulling slightly. They'd been in for a little under a week; she'd had to switch side of the bed with Sandy so she could lie with her back spooned to his stomach without lying on the stitches, fingers intertwining. Kirsten heard her phone ringing and pulled it out of her bag quickly, nodding apology to the few people who remained scattered amongst tables whose tops were being cleared for the round of late afternoon visitors. She looked at her caller ID; was surprised to see Seth calling her. She'd expected Sandy to have been calling.

"Hi, honey." Kirsten grabbed her bag and file, and let herself out into the mid afternoon sunshine. It felt like warm honey on her skin, and she could feel the heat slipping into her bones.

"Hey, Mom. How's things?" Kirsten bit her lip, willed her voice steady. She didn't want to tell Seth and Ryan. Not over the phone. Not without Sandy to hold her up.

"You know, same as usual." She knew she didn't sound her usual self, but was hoping Seth would be too wrapped up in his own world to notice. He did as she'd wanted, and continued the conversation without a hitch.

"Well, I've got a study week coming up, and I thought I'd come home for a few days."

"Do you want us to send you some plane tickets?" Kirsten dropped her bag on the bonnet of the car and started looking for her keys. She'd chosen her black bag today, and she'd forgotten how big it was. It was like the black hole of Calcutta for anything she might need. Everything she didn't was, as luck goes, right on top. She found a watch she hadn't seen since last spring, and laid it on the bonnet.

"Sure. Can you book them from Monday to Thursday in two weeks?" Kirsten calculated in her head. She'd have been out of hospital for a week by then, depending on how the operation went. She'd know then, too, about what kind of follow up treatment she'd need.

"Mhm, I'll email you tonight." Kirsten finally found her keys, and bleeped the car open.

"Thanks, Mom. Say hi to Dad for me. Gotta go." Kirsten flipped her phone shut and threw it into her bag. She gathered watch, bag and files and made herself comfortable in the car before leaning her head against the steering wheel. She could feel the dull throb at the back of her skull that had accompanied her on and off since months before she'd found the lump. She'd unsuccessfully ignored it for weeks, taking handfuls of Panadol. Now, it seemed, there was a reason her body was letting her know something was wrong. Kirsten allowed herself another moment of dwelling on the pain, the feeling of her body being eaten from the inside, before she checked the time. Sandy would be well and truly finished lunch, but she needed him. It was becoming more real than she could deal with, and she just wanted to tell someone, hoping that some solace could be found in the sharing.

_Revel in the angst, guys! Reviews loved. _


	3. The Bad News

Sandy had just put away his last client file. He'd needed to rewrite the draft proposal four times before he felt confident enough to hand it to another staff member to look over. He'd muttered a rough apology, unable even to form a coherent sentence that needed to consist only of the word sorry. He was taking shorter breaths, checking his watch every thirty seconds, unable to concentrate. Surely she'd have the results by now. Surely she should have called by now, giving him news that he'd either be overjoyed or suicidal about. Sandy resisted calling her, knowing that she'd resent the over-protective implications. She'd kissed him this morning, like she had most mornings since the biopsy; with one arm crossed protectively in front of her breast, keeping it from touching him. He knew the stitches were still pulling, knew she was aching with the fear that they might have to go deeper than that. Knew not knowing was killing him as well.

"Sandy?" She stood in the doorway, looking pale under the illuminating down lights. Her eyes were bloodshot and there were smudges under her eyes where shadows threatened to invade. She was wearing a jumper but she still shivered in the air conditioning.

"I forgot how cold it was in here. It's kind of strange… seeing it from an outsider's perspective." She was looking around Sandy's office, noting interior changes, decorating differences since she'd spiralled downward and left the company. Her arms crossed over her body and she shivered again.

"I thought you would have called." Sandy moved from his chair to slowly walk around in front of her. He stopped, inches from touching her. She wasn't wearing heels today, and she looked up into his eyes as she delivered what he'd been dreading to hear.

"It isn't good. I need to go in for an operation tomorrow, and then they'll…" Kirsten's eyes filled with tears, and Sandy reached out to envelope her, careful of the stitches. She cried silently into his chest, and Sandy felt a tear slipping slowly out of his own eye. He was reluctant to wipe it away, wanting instead to pay homage to how Kirsten must have felt since the doctor had delivered the bad news.

Sandy led her to the couch, eased her into it. Her face was still in his chest, her back rising up and down in time to her sobs. Sandy rubbed her back, ran his fingers through her silky hair. He remembered her mother, how sick she'd been, how she'd lost her hair and most of her body weight and her vitality. He thought of his own mother, so lifeless and grey before remission. He prayed to anyone, anywhere, that the same fate would not befall Kirsten.

"It's a malignant growth. They're taking out everything they didn't get with the biopsy, then checking my lymph nodes. They'll know whether I need chemo or radiotherapy after that. And Seth's coming home…" Kirsten lifted pearly, crystalline eyes to meet his. Smudges of mascara rimmed each, and Sandy carefully lifted a hand to wipe each of her eyes.

"Did you tell Seth?" He asked. Kirsten waited until his thumbs were a safe distance from her eyes before she shook her head.

"He'll be home week after next. We'll know more about what's going on then. If we can call Ryan and get him home at the same time, we can break the news to both of them." Kirsten rested her head against Sandy's shoulder, and he reached around her with his arm. Sandy stroked her hand, the silky skin on it still bearing remnants of a summer tan which was fading fast. It seemed to him that since they'd been considering thoughts of cancer, Kirsten had been getting progressively paler. He thought back to a few months before. After Suriak, Kirsten had begun going to bed earlier, had been taking more headache capsules and just hadn't been her usual thousand-miles-an-hour self. He'd put it down to alcohol withdrawal, but now knew it might have been the cancer all along.

"At least now we know." Sandy said. He felt Kirsten nod slightly and he held her closer.


	4. The Quiet Night

Kirsten had ordered dinner as soon as they'd gotten home. As much as she liked to claim domestic goddess, tonight was a night when she didn't feel like cooking. They'd eaten at six on the patio, watching the blazing sun sinking slowly to a watery death. Neither of them spoke much, and Kirsten was grateful. The silence was comfortable between them, and they sat after they'd eaten, holding hands. Unspoken between them was a wondering at how much longer they might be able to do this.

"Can you book Seth his plane tickets tonight? I said we'd email him."

"Sure."

"And call Ryan. Maybe I should call Ryan, but…" Sandy knew what she was feeling. She'd been able to talk to Seth. Or rather, listen, since Seth did most of the talking and always had done. Ryan was a listener himself, and Sandy knew that Kirsten knew he'd pick up that there was something wrong. A quiver in her voice, misplaced words while her mind was still thinking of the cruel diagnosis… Sandy wasn't sure he could do much better.

"I'll email them both." He said, and felt, rather than saw, Kirsten nod in the half dark of the approaching twilight.

As darkness fell, they started cleaning up. Sandy took the time to quickly book Seth some tickets, and he emailed Ryan, asking him to come home when Seth was home. He wondered whether he should specify 'family news' as the reason, but decided to leave it. He came back to find Kirsten switching the dishwasher on. She turned tired eyes on Sandy and the clean kitchen.

"To bed?" He offered and she nodded. It was barely seven, but she already felt dead on her feet. They'd arranged for Sandy to take her to the hospital. Kirsten had weakly refused, told him he couldn't afford the time off when the company was already struggling. He'd told her nothing would make him leave that hospital unless, of course, she was beside him. She'd smiled, kissed him, told him she'd loved him with one deft look. He'd looked right back at her, and it had been settled.

They showered quickly, Kirsten leaning against the marble stall wall while Sandy soaped her back. He'd pulled on a pair of boxers then lay on the bed and watched as she dressed. She'd taken off the dressing after the shower, and the stitches stood out, cruel and black, against her satin skin. She pulled on underwear and a singlet that promoted an art show that had happened fifteen years ago. Kirsten looked down at it, responding to Sandy's confusion about it. She shrugged.

"Found it on ebay." Sandy shook his head, smiled as she climbed in beside him.

"My wife, the chronic shopper." Kirsten rolled over to face him, pulling the pillow towards her so it didn't obstruct her view. Sandy reached a hand out, rested his wrist on her side so his fingers could drape over her back, brushing her backbone. There was a moment of silence between them, shared breathing while they both kept avoiding what they'd been trying not to talk about since dinner.

"I'm really scared, Sandy." Kirsten said, snuggling herself closer to him. Sandy pulled her in and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Me too," he said, his voice barely lifting above audible. "Me too."

_Just a small author's note; my Aunt had breast cancer, but I was too young to really know anything about it. I'm flying by the seat of my pants with any medical information. If you feel a grievous error has been committed, send me a PM, email me or leave what you think to be right in a review and I'll do my best to edit accordingly. Thanks._


	5. The Rainy Day

The next day was unusually grey. Weather forecasters were going crazy with the chance to be able to mention the word rain and Newport in the same sentence. Kirsten was up at four, filled with nervous energy she was unable to displace. She turned on her bedroom lamp, letting out a small sigh of relief when Sandy didn't wake at the newly lit state of the room. Kirsten packed a small overnight bag with toiletries, extra underwear, more extra underwear and a copy of Vogue. She sat the bag near the door, and turned the light off before pulling up a blind to look outside at the dreary day. The sun was straining to break through looming clouds, and it looked as if it would be largely unsuccessful. Sandy stirred at six thirty, and Kirsten brought him a coffee. He didn't want to drink it, since she couldn't have one, but she reasoned with him that he was the one driving, and she'd prefer if he had some caffeine in his system. They took a quick shower, dressed and were ready to leave by ten past seven.

The car ride to the hospital was mostly silent. Sandy held Kirsten's hand all the way there, while she looked out the window at the drizzly day. They booked her in with a minimum of fuss, and Sandy carried her bag to her room as they followed the nurse. She told them the operating team would be there in fifteen minutes, and left Kirsten to change into a hospital gown.

"I hate these things." Kirsten said, as Sandy tied it up at the back for her. She looked tiny in it, all frail limbs and blonde hair.

"Why, because everyone gets a lovely behind view?" Sandy teased. Kirsten pouted.

"That's exactly why. Don't you be checking anyone out while you're waiting for me, either." Kirsten leaned over, kissed him as he finished doing up the last tie. They both knew he'd be pacing the waiting room the entire time, too worried to take advantage of the backless theatre gowns that came standard in most hospitals.

"Of course not." Sandy helped Kirsten settle herself in the bed. They were going to wheel her to the operating theatre in it, then back to this room. He gave her pillow a bit of plumping before he let her sink back onto it. She found his hand, and clasped it with both hers.

"I love you. You'll be fine. The best breast they've operated on." Kirsten squeezed his hand, wrinkled her eyebrows.

"Thanks, I think." He could see the fear in her eyes, knew she could see it in his. Before they had time to say anything about it, there was a knock from outside, and the oncologist came in, along with a surgeon, an anaesthesiologist and two scrub sisters.

"Hi, Kirsten." The oncologist was carrying her chart under his arm, and he checked it out.

"I see we've got some trouble. This is Jane, Amelia, our anaesthesiologist, Tracy Masters, and Dr. Bradley. He's the best in the hospital, and he's going to be doing your operation today." Dr. Bradley stepped forward, smiled at her. He reminded her a bit of Summer's Dad, all steel grey hair and encouraging authority.

"What we're going to do depends on what we find, exactly. We've charted the mass, which was what happened when you had all those tests and the biopsy, but until we actually get in there, we won't be sure of how much has to come out. If it's reached your lymph nodes, they'll be removed as well. We'll be doing x-rays and ultra-sounds as we go, so we won't have to unnecessarily open anything. If we find anything else in your breast tissue that looks risky, we'll have to remove it. A mastectomy." The Doctor paused as Kirsten looked at Sandy with worried eyes. He leaned over, whispered in her ear.

"One is enough for the both of us." Kirsten smiled, looked back to the Doctor as he continued.

"You'll be completely under the whole time." The Doctor looked to the anaesthesiologist who was next to speak. She was younger than Kirsten or Sandy had expected. Her hair was red, tied back but still startling on the light blue hospital scrubs.

"You wrote on the form that you have no problems with any kind of anaesthetic?"

"That's right." Kirsten said.

"Great." Tracy marked something on her sheet, let Dr. Bradley take over again.

"Okay. I think that's it from me, unless you've got any questions?" He looked from Sandy to Kirsten, both of whom shook their head. "Great. I'm going to go prep. I'll see you in there." He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and left the room, his entourage filing out behind him. The oncologist looked back as he stood at the doorway.

"Jane and Amelia will gown up, and be back in five to wheel you down to theatre." He stepped out, and the room was empty again. Kirsten's hands had never left Sandy's, and she clung on now, leaning over to rest her forehead against his. Neither of them needed to speak; everything passed between them, unspoken.

All too soon, the scrub sisters arrived and she was whisked away from him too quickly; wheeled supine down the hallway towards a room where they would cut his wife open, trying to get all the cancer out, all the ugly, black disease that was consuming her from the inside.


	6. The Yellow Room

_This is a bit of a longer chapter, so settle in with a warm drink of your choice. If you'd like to know what kind of mood this chapter was written in, make yourself a new playlist with these songs;_

_Shopping Trolley by Beth Orton, Sea & the Rhythm by Iron and Wine, One Crowded Hour by Augie March, This Old Love by Lior, Title and Registration by Death Cab for Cutie, Night Birds by Ryan Adams and See Saw by Youth Group._

_And, as always, please, please review. Enjoy!_

Sandy stayed in her room at first, sitting in the visitor's chair. It was strange; a hospital room without a bed. It seemed pointless to him, and he left before he could begin considering how long until she came back in it or, worse still, it came back empty.

He strolled down to the waiting room. Obviously, the interior designer had decided yellow was the happiest colour, and the walls surrounding Sandy made him feel as if he was sitting inside a lemon. He wondered what colour the inside of the operating theatre was. He wondered if Kirsten had noticed, or if she'd been given anaesthetic as soon as she got in there and was blissfully unaware of the activity going on around her, the cutting of her fine flesh, the manipulation of her limbs to let the surgical team get as deep as they could.

Sandy sat on a sunrise coloured couch and rested his elbows on his knees, forehead on his hands, eyes cast down. It seemed easier to concentrate on the muted carpet tones than the yellow walls. Yellow reminded him too much of Kirsten. The colour of her hair, out of the sun. He preferred seeing her in the sun, the warm glow illuminating her honeyed curves, turning her hair from mere yellow to a royal golden. She was the yellow in his life, the brightness, the spark. She was the sun's glow in the morning, and the moon's whispering light at night. She was his human credential, the other half he couldn't live without; the better half.

Sandy checked his watch. They were two hours into the operation. He felt like it had been days since her hand had slipped from his, since he'd heard the murmur of the wheels on her bed echo in from the hallway. She'd been so pale this morning, when she brought him his coffee. Her eyes had been rimmed with smudges of exhaustion. He loved those eyes, the cerulean colour of them, the long lashes, the way she could convey everything with a glance, a flicker of movement. He loved waking up and looking into those eyes. He loved seeing them before he went to sleep. Loved making love to her, watching the lids flicker, the pupils dilate with desire. He loved everything about her eyes. Even when she was angry with him, he couldn't turn away from those eyes. Luminous, wrenching, so familiar he could shut his own eyes and recall them in perfect detail. Closing out the bland carpet, watching his wife watch him in his mind, Sandy didn't notice the tears until they hit his hands, cooling and evaporating immediately in the air conditioned room. He wiped them quickly away, pressed the pads of his thumbs to his eyes, stemming the flow. He knew he needed to be strong for her when she came back, needed to set aside his own fear to abate hers. She was the one whose skin had been broken under the weight of scalpel blades. She was the one whose insides had been discovered, chartered, removed if necessary. She was the one whose mind was motionless, suspended in uneasy dreams under the effect of anaesthetic.

He was just looking forward to holding her hands again. That morning, he'd covered her hands with his own after she'd handed him the coffee cup. They were so much smaller than his own, almost child sized. Her nails were short, cut square, delicate. Her hands, tiny and ineffectual, had wound with his. They'd looked down, seeing her pale fingers against his tanned ones, overlapping like piano keys, highlighting his good health and her failing wellbeing. He could still remember holding her hand when he'd proposed. He hadn't been able to find the money for a real ring, and he'd proposed with a cheap plastic one that he'd won at an arcade. She'd been excited, pulled him up off his knees and hugged him, barely giving him time to put the ring on her finger before she kissed him, made love to him on the floor. They hadn't been interrupted by his hands sliding over her skin and finding a lump under the surface then. He wondered if it had been there, hibernating, hiding, lurking underneath, waiting until she'd been through hell before surfacing.

The last year hadn't been easy on either of them. Sandy knew it wasn't just Caleb that had pushed Kirsten over the edge; it was him, Rebecca, the news of Caleb's affair, the fact that Sandy had known and kept it from her, juggling the Newport Group mainly on her own and not finding appreciation anywhere. He blamed himself for not noticing until it got bad enough to put her in hospital. He still remembered the screeching brakes, her scream, chilling him along the phone line. Him, driving like a maniac to the nearest hospital, seeing her rolled in, bloodied, apologetic. The heartbreak of letting her go at Suriak, then hearing she could come home but didn't want to… Sandy still didn't quite understand why she'd stayed away as long as she had. She'd come home eventually, to an empty house. Sandy still hadn't forgiven himself for neglecting her so completely. Hearing her tell him she was home for good had somehow allowed him to forget that home for good didn't mean sober forever, or happily ever after. It meant still struggling, fighting the urge to run back to her past undoing. And now, after she'd struggled for so long, was looking like she was winning… now they had this new low to sink to.

Sandy looked up and around the waiting room. There was an elderly couple there, holding hands, obviously giving each other strength. The man looked over to Sandy, gently acknowledging the tears just barely being held back, the worry and fear he knew was evident in every line of his face. They nodded to each other before the older man turned to his companion, murmured something in her ear that made her smile. Sandy put his head back down on his arms. He knew the odds of cancer. He knew Kirsten's mother and grandmother had died of cancer. He knew how lucky it was that his own mother had gone into remission. He knew he might not have the luxury of holding her hand when they were the same age as the couple across the room, the luxury of telling her something only they could share, making her smile.

Standing abruptly, Sandy tried to stop thinking negatively. He paced out to the hall, needing to do something other than sit and consider a future without Kirsten. The truth was, there was no future without Kirsten. For twenty years it had been the two of them, dealing with everything life threw at them together. He needed her next to him, backing him up, gently letting him know when he was being an arse. He needed her warmth beside him in bed every night, her coffee cup next to his in the sink, her voice answering the phone to him when he needed nothing else than to hear it.

Checking his watch again, Sandy noted that another two hours had passed since he last checked. Four hours seemed like an excessively long time for her to be in there. As if sensing his thoughts, a hand alighted on his sleeve, making him jump.

"Mr. Cohen, your wife is out of surgery. She's being wheeled back to her room, if you'd like to meet her there."

"How is she?" Sandy dodged from side to side in the hall, anxiety not yet dispersed and expounding itself in a sudden burst of nervous energy.

"She's still out from the anaesthetic. The doctor will tell you more." The nurse opened the door to Kirsten's room and let Sandy rush past. He pulled the visitor's chair close and picked up Kirsten's hand. She was cold from the air conditioning in the operating theatre and her skin was pale, almost bloodless. Her eyes didn't open when he touched her, and Sandy looked over at the nurse.

"How long until she wakes up?" He wanted Kirsten too look at him, tell him she was feeling okay, ask him to get her water or food or something. The nurse looked at the softly bleeping machines Kirsten was hooked up to and wrote on the chart.

"Well, all her vitals are looking okay. She should come round soon. Once he cleans up from the surgery, Dr. Bradley will be down to tell you how it went." Another scribble on the chart, and the nurse was gone, leaving Sandy alone with Kirsten. He reached over to brush her hair back from her forehead. They'd changed her hospital gown from theatre blue to white cotton, and he could see the outline of several bandages beneath it; one over her breast and one under her arm. A drip silently seeped into her wrist, and he could see the barest flutter of movement beneath her eyelids. Sandy rubbed her arm, trying to warm it up. Her lips were pale, the skin on her face almost translucent, so different from the summer glow she had less than a few months ago. Sandy leaned forward, felt her reassuring, albeit slow, exhalations stirring the air. He murmured to her slowly, not sure what he was saying. He thought it was mostly promises, that he'd do better, that he'd be there more, that he'd stop threatening to sing karaoke at every Newpsie party they went to if she'd just wake up.

Finally, the doctor came in, scrubs exchanged for casual clothing, white lab coat thrown over the top. He looked mildly concerned as he looked over Kirsten's sleeping figure.

"She hasn't woken up yet?" He asked. Sandy shook his head, his eyes staying intently on Kirsten's eyes, willing them to open. The doctor pushed a few buttons on the monitors, changing screens. He pushed the nurse button before looking through the chart. In less than two minutes, the same nurse that had shown Sandy into the room was back.

"Page Masters. Tell her I need her here now."

"What is it? What's wrong?" Sandy asked, knowing something was going on. The doctor pulled a flashlight out of his top pocket and gently peeled back each of Kirsten's eyelids before flashing the light in them.

"It's nothing to worry about. We just need to get her to wake up. She weighs less than we thought, I expect." The doctor talked to Sandy as he lifted her hospital gown to check the dressings. A small stain of blood was spreading at her breast, but her other dressing was clear. Tracy chose that moment to reappear. She was still in scrubs, but, like the doctor, had added a lab coat over the top. Her hair was still distractingly red, but it failed to draw Sandy's eye from Kirsten.

"Dr. Bradley?" She asked, walking over to look at the chart.

"We need her awake. It's been over four and a half." Tracy nodded, searched her lab pockets until she came out with a vial and a syringe. Gloving up, she gave the vial to Bradley, who nodded and charted it. Tracy opened the syringe packet and drew out a small amount of amber liquid before injecting it into Kirsten's IV line. She pulled off the gloves and checked her watch.

"Two minutes. Maybe less." She said. Her beeper went off, and she checked the screen before picking up the room phone and dialling quickly. She gave whomever it was the room number, and an ETA on her time before hanging up and checking her watch again. They were all focused on Kirsten. Sandy clasped her hand tighter, feeling faint pressure answer him back. Her leaned forward seeing her eyes moving faster under her eyelids until they opened, focussing on him. Her lips curved gently into a smile, and she blinked several times. The door to the room was given a cursory knock before it opened. Neil Roberts' head appeared, and he was momentarily stunned to see Sandy and Kirsten in there.

"Sandy," he said. Sandy looked over quickly, not wanting to lose the sight of his wife's open eyes.

"Neil," Sandy replied, nodding. Neil nodded back, recalled why he was there.

"Tracy, need you in surgery now." Tracy nodded at him, then looked at Dr Bradley who motioned for her to leave.

"I'll… I'll see you later, Sandy." Neil said as they left. Sandy nodded, this time not bothering to lift his eyes to meet Neil's.

"Kirsten, I need you to look at me," Dr Bradley coaxed her. Reluctantly, Kirsten turned her eyes away from Sandy to the other side of the bed.

"I need you to tell me how many fingers I'm holding up." Kirsten cleared her throat, gave the right answer in a voice that was slightly husky, only just more than a whisper. The doctor nodded encouragingly.

"And how is your pain on a scale of one to ten, ten being worst?" There was a pause as Kirsten considered, moved in discomfort.

"Five." She said softly.

"Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?" Kirsten shook her head and the doctor nodded again, made another note on the chart. He hung the chart over the end of the bed and pulled the other chair in the room closer to the bed.

"The operation went relatively well. We didn't quite have to do a mastectomy, but we did remove a lot of tissue that was cancerous. We also had to remove some of your lymph nodes, so you'll have some discomfort under there. It was a long operation because of that. We did several scans, all of which came back reasonably clean."

"Which means?" Sandy asked. The doctor flicked a glance over to him before looking back to Kirsten.

"Hopefully we caught it before your lymph nodes could send it around your system. However, you will still need chemotherapy, just in case. You can elect to have chemo for an hour every two days, or you can come in once a week, and take an oral prescription for the rest of the week. You don't have to decide now. Most patients only want to be in here once a week, but if you're finding that you're too nauseous to keep the drugs down, you'll need to come in every two days. I know chemo isn't something everyone wants to undergo, but it is necessary. You'll also need to have blood tests every month for the next two years, then every six months after that. We reopened your biopsy incision for the operation, so that's been restitched and, again, some discomfort will occur. Once you feel the stitches pulling, in about two weeks, come back and we'll take them out. The internal stitches will be absorbed into your body, so you don't have to worry about them. You'll need to stay in overnight for observation, but you can probably be discharged tomorrow. There was a bit of bleeding during the operation, and we need to keep an eye on your fluid levels. I've prescribed some pain killers for you, the nurse will bring them and the script repeat by later. You'll need to start whichever course of chemo you choose next week, I'll get some info brought in for you." The doctor looked between them. "It's not an all clear, but it looks like we managed to stop the cancer before it could go anywhere else. Which is a good thing." He looked back to Kirsten, leaning in to pat her hand. "You will need to have a lot of rest over the next week, though. Bed rest until your body can heal itself. An operation like this isn't a small feat to get through. Any questions?" Sandy looked at Kirsten, and answered in the negative for them both. He could see her strength fading. The doctor got up and moved the chair back to its original position. He scribbled a signature on the chart.

"I'll be back in a few hours." He slipped out of the room, white coat swirling out of the door before it shut softly behind him. Sandy's eyes caught Kirsten's, and he saw the grimace in them.

"Hey, baby. How are you feeling?" He asked. Kirsten shut her eyes for a long blink, had to refocus on him as she opened them.

"A little…" Her sentence trailed off as she shut her eyes again. Sandy squeezed her hand to wake her back up.

"I've been better." She said, looking back at him, managing the smallest curvature of her lips in a replicated smile. There was a silence between them. Sandy brought her still chilled hand up to his face, breathed warm kisses along her fingers.

"He said I have to stay overnight… You should go… home." Sandy shook his head.

"There's no way I'm gonna leave you." Another long silence, and Kirsten managed a wider smile below heavily lidded eyes. Sandy saw her lips move, and he moved in to hear her soft words.

"..Love you." He made out from the faint breath brushing over his cheek. He kissed her forehead, then each closed eyelid, feeling her delicate lashes tickle his lips.

"I love you too." He whispered in her ears, the smile from her lips fading as she slowly drifted into dreams.

"More than you can ever know." Sandy sat back in his chair, delivering the last words to a sleeping figure. Her wounded chest rose gently with each breath, and only when he was sure she was deeply asleep did Sandy let the worry of the past five hours overcome him. His body leaning forward over the bed, head nestled against the soft cotton gown over her stomach, Sandy finally wept.

_Oh gosh. I know. Can't you just see the camera zooming out of the room at the end there, the screen fading slowly to black? Gotta love the angst… sigh. _

_Okay… I don't know if you can get oral chemo tabs, but let's just go with it. It's fanfiction for a reason, right? If anyone has any comments to offer on the factuality on the whole cancer thing, email, review or PM me please. Otherwise, just review and tell me what you thought; love/hate/suggestions/flames/adoration/flattery… it's all welcomed, I just want to know people are reading it! _

_NB: The first 1,200 or so words of this chapter, featuring Sandy in full worry mode, come to you from a suggestion in a review by MisssIda. Thanks xx._


	7. The Bloody Knuckles

**I know it's been a while… Hopefully everyone hasn't lost interest! **

**Listening to What Sarah Said by Death Cab, Fall At Your Feet by Claire Bowditch, Ask me Anything by The Strokes and Never Gonna Fall in Love Again by Snow Patrol. As always, please R&R. **

The rest of the afternoon, Sandy clung to Kirsten's hand. She came through alternate bouts of wakefulness and dreaming, the nurse assuring Sandy that was completely normal and probably best for the patient. Sandy hated that; Kirsten being called a patient, lumped into the same category as sick people. She wasn't sick, she'd just been targeted cruelly by a disease with no reasoning. Sandy had managed to keep his anger at bay so far, not wanting to alarm Kirsten with an outburst. She had always been the calmest out of them, the most reasonable. Sandy, however, felt enough anger for them both. She'd been through enough. Now, looking tiny and defenceless on the white sheeted bed, his anger was triggered again.

"Fuck." Sandy stood, unable to sit any longer. He tried pacing but the carpet under his feet was course and caught the bottom of his shoes the faster he walked. He kicked the metal bin that was in the room. It hit the wall with a dull clang and fell on its side. Without thinking Sandy stomped on it, exerting all his energy on reducing the object to half its size. When it was as flat as he could get it, and the bottom of his foot felt bruised, Sandy stopped, stepping back, breathing heavily. He looked over at Kirsten, the beeping of the machines slowly drifting back into his consciousness. She was still asleep, hair fanned on the pillow, one arm brought up to rest near her surgical incision, as if to ward off any other intrusions to her body. Sandy looked at the flattened bin. He shifted it with his foot before deciding to leave it where it was. He didn't have anywhere to put it anyway.

A small growl of protest from his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten yet today. Neither had Kirsten, but the slow drip they had running into her arm was hydrating her. Sandy ran a hand down her arm and she barely stirred. Confident she wouldn't wake up in the few minutes it would take him to run to the hospital cafeteria, Sandy gave her a kiss on the forehead and slipped out the door. The hallway seemed like an expanse of miles after the room. They were in a private hospital, and the rooms weren't terribly cramped but they weren't the open space Sandy was used to. He took a breath and started towards the stairs near the nurses station. He needed to stretch his legs, work out some of the nervous energy he still had. She needed chemo. She wasn't out of the woods yet.

"Sandy." His name stopped him at the door to the stairs and he turned to see Neil, scrubs swapped for civilian clothes. Unlike the other doctors, he wasn't wearing a lab coat. He was carrying a briefcase, which prompted Sandy to assume he was done for the day.

"Hi, Neil." Signing a chart hurriedly and shuffling it back onto the nurse's desk, Neil came over quickly.

"I was going to come see you before I left. Are you going down to the caf?" He motioned towards the stairs and Sandy nodded. They entered the stairwell in companionable silence before Sandy started to speak.

"She had a malignant tumour in her breast. They operated this morning." Instead of jumping straight into consoling comments, Dr Roberts let Sandy's statement sit for a moment. They were down a flight of stairs before he spoke.

"I'm sorry, Sandy. From what Julie and Summer have said, and even Seth when I've happened to speak to him, she's a wonderful woman. I'm sure this won't be her end." Neil sounded sincere, but it shook something loose in Sandy, the thoughts he'd been trying to keep at bay since their lovemaking in the kitchen had been brought to such a dramatic stop.

"What is it is?" His voice was desolate, bleak. He'd been running through the odds in his head, coming up with facts and figures that had no basis in real life, in her dying cells, her need for chemo, the stitches that held her together at the moment.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Again, Sandy felt anger brewing. At life, at the unfairness of it. He fought for justice on a daily basis now he was back with the DA, and he knew how hard it was to achieve. He paused and his fists pounded the hard cement walls, sending muffled thumps up and down the stairwell. Neil waited patiently, watching as the knuckles bruised, bloodied. He dealt in plastic surgery almost exclusively these days, but he could still remember when he'd been involved in real surgeries; those that saved lives, made a difference in someone's future rather than just increasing someone's bust or slowing the aging process.

Sandy's punches slowed, stopped, and for the second time in ten minutes he found his breathing quickened, another part of his body injured as he tried to come to turns with how Kirsten, who had never hurt anyone, could have been chosen by this black disease. How his wife, who had just mastered cookery after ordering in for twenty years, who snored even though she denied it, who fell sleep in movies even though she claimed she was just resting her eyes, who had accepted and loved another son after Sandy had brought him home from jail… This woman had been given an effective life sentence. He wasn't stupid. He knew that once you had cancer, even if you went into remission, it wasn't forever. The doctor had virtually told them that with the news of future blood tests.

"There'll be an exam room on this floor that we can look at your hands in." Sandy trailed Neil onto the fourth floor, protesting all the while. Neil ignored his posturing and, after checking with a nurse on the floor, opened the door to an empty room. He motioned for Sandy to sit down and put his briefcase on the chair. The nurse reappeared with swabs, alcohol and dressings before leaving.

"Cancer isn't the end of the road, Sandy."

"It's the beginning of a battle." Sandy finished his sentence just in time to hiss as his wounds were cleaned. Neil paused, the swab poised as their eyes met.

"She's strong. She handled Caleb all those years. I hear that was quite a feat." Sandy managed a small, cursory smile as Neil put patches over his knuckles and secured them.

"If you don't want me to tell Julie, I'll understand. If it's something you want to keep private for now." Neil draped the sterile cloth back over the tray and took off his gloves. Sandy sighed, rubbed his eyes with both hands and thought. They hadn't told the boys yet, but Kirsten might like the support. For some reason, the two women are become something akin to best friends. For everything he didn't like about Julie, she did have a fierce loyalty towards Kirsten.

"You can tell her. It would be best if she didn't let it get any further. We still have to tell the boys, and it would be better if they didn't hear it from anyone else." Neil nodded, picked up his briefcase as they both moved to the door.

"I'll let her know, then. The cafeteria is down the end of the hall at the right." Sandy nodded, paused just before they started walking in opposite directions.

"Thanks Neil." He motioned to his hands. "This, and…" Letting his voice trail off, Sandy received a quick squeeze to his shoulder from Neil.

"It's okay. If there's anything you need…" Leaving his own sentence open, Neil acknowledged Sandy's nod before walking away.

She'd been sat up by a nurse by the time he got back, and Sandy hurried over to her side.

"Your hands…" She said as soon as he was closer. Sandy looked down, having almost forgotten the plain bandages that were wrapped around his knuckles, making him look as if he was about to put a pair of boxing gloves on. Acknowledging the pain every time he flexed his fingers, he almost wished he'd put gloves on before going a round with the cement wall.

"I wanted to be here when you got back… Have you been awake long?" Kirsten shook her head, her eyes still on his hands. He reached one out and she lightly took it, mindful of the bandages.

"I went a round with a wall." Kirsten looked past him, her eyes pointedly moving to the crumpled bin. Sandy sighed, nodded.

"The trash can, too."

"Can't let you go a minute until you're on a rampage, can I?" Her humour made him feel mildly better, although it was delivered in a weak voice, a soft tone he almost strained to hear. He knew she knew why he was so angry. He knew that she'd know there was nothing she could say that could make him feel anything about the injustice of it.

"Were you hungry? Thirsty?" Sandy said. Kirsten shook her head. She was still pale, the hand that held his seemingly thinner and whiter than it had been that morning.

"It was hurting, so the nurse gave me some pain killers. I had some water then." Kirsten's eyes flitted to the window, the twilight that rapidly approached night outside.

"What time is it?" She asked. Sandy looked at his watch, gave her the time. She looked mildly confused.

"Was I sleeping? All that time?" Sandy nodded, shrugged.

"Most of it. My sleeping beauty." He reached out, tucked a few stray strands of hair back behind her ear.

"But the doctor was here. Chemo." Kirsten nodded, and he could tell she was thinking of her mother. Unconsciously, the hand that wasn't wrapped in Sandy's went to her hair before she dropped it back to her lap, looking ashamed.

"I should feel lucky they think they got it all. I shouldn't be worried about hair…" She trailed off and her eyes flitted back to Sandy's.

"Baby, we'll get through it. You might not lose your hair. Besides, you'll have Julie to test every wig in the shop so she can custom pick one. Which reminds me, Neil happened to see you here. I said it was okay to tell Julie, thought you could use the support." Kirsten nodded, let her head drop back against the pillow. Sandy could see the small reserve of energy she had was almost all expelled.

"Sure… Are you going home tonight?" She looked up to see Sandy shaking his head. The longest they had slept apart before was while she was at Suriak, and he'd promised himself that would never happen again.

"Well…" Her lips curved into the ghost of a smile and, with difficulty, she shuffled herself across to the edge of the bed where her drip was.

"There's room in here for two." She invited. Sandy looked worriedly at the gown that was covering her stitches. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to move in the night and accidentally bump the stitches.

"I need you here." She prompted softly. That was all it took for him to put down the side of the bed and get in beside her. They took a few minutes to settle; making sure all the various tubes and cords she was hooked up to were still intact and putting her at least risk of Sandy touching her incisions. When they were settled, his arms around her, her head resting lightly on his chest he felt her sigh.

"Sandy… Thank you." She said. He rubbed her back a little as her breathing grew deeper and she slipped back into dreams. Leaning back into the pillows, careful of staying as still as possible, Sandy tried to join his wife in the blissful abyss of sleep.

**I know everyone's eager for me to get to the boys' reaction, but I want to savour this story, instead of skipping all the emotional bits like they seem to on the show. So, sorry to those who expected Seth and Ryan this chapter. Soon, I promise. Thanks for reading.**


	8. The Boys Come Home

Kirsten tried to relax on the couch. The truth was, she was scared. Fear had been a daily feeling for her now, a coldness that kept her core numbed and her nerves taut. She'd stayed in the hospital a few days longer than they'd thought because of her reaction to the chemo. She'd vomited for most of the day, dropping her hydration level to a low that had nurses scrambling and doctors looking worried about. The first bout of chemo had needed to be had been the worst, had made her feel itchy in her own skin. She was over the hill for this week, though, and had only the prescription to take. Two pills at breakfast. The only problem with that was that somehow, along with most of the tissue out of her breast, her appetite had disappeared as well. She had to force herself to choke down half a mouthful of toast, and that was only so Sandy would look less worried. He was gone now, was at the airport picking up the boys. For once, she was by herself with no one asking her if she needed anything, how she was feeling, if she could eat anymore. Not that she didn't love Sandy being near her, but sometimes his hovering got too much and she just wanted to sit in peace, try to let her mind clear. Unfortunately, her thoughts kept going back to the boys. How they'd react. If they'd be angry that she hadn't told them sooner. If they'd know something was wrong as soon as they saw her. She could guess the answer to the last question was probably an affirmative; she'd lost almost more weight than her body could afford to be without, and she knew her eyes and hair were dull, even from the few days of chemo she'd been through already. Julie's reaction at the hospital had been enough; she'd entered the hospital room with all the gusto Julie Cooper could manage, but had paused inside the threshold. Kirsten had nodded to herself as she'd seen the surprise and instant, overlapping sadness in her eyes. But true to form, Julie had composed herself and carried on as if nothing was wrong, depositing the flowers she'd brought, complete with vase, on the bedside table, settling herself beside Kirsten and chatting about inane things until she stopped, a hand going to Kirsten's hair.

"Kiks, please tell me you'll be okay." Julie's eyes misted temporarily until she blinked the tears back. Kirsten smiled a little. Most of her life she'd been adept at telling people what they wanted to hear and after Suriak, she'd honed that skill. Now, she nodded up at Julie.

"I'll be fine."

Kirsten wondered whether she'd be able to lie to the boys so easily. The truth was, she wasn't sure whether she'd be fine. She hoped so, but no one had said anything about her growing old enough to tell her grandkids embarrassing stories about their fathers.

After she came out of hospital, and got away from the anaesthetic she began to remember what had been mostly a blur to her while she was there. Sandy and his bruised knuckles. He still hadn't told her exactly what had happened. The woman with the needles and bright red hair. And the Doctor, who had told her that it wasn't an all clear. Still, she was trying to remain optimistic. As long as the chemo worked, as long as the blood tests kept coming back clear, as long as she could hold on to life with both hands, there was a chance.

"Honey, we're home." Sandy's voice came down the hallway and, gingerly, Kirsten pushed herself to her feet. She was definitely moving slower, but she didn't know whether it was just the soreness she still felt from the operation, or whether it was the fatigue that had slowly settled into her bones. Kirsten ran her hands through her hair awkwardly, wincing as the stitches at her lymph nodes pulled on the skin. She needed to go back and get them taken out sometime over the next few days.

"Hey guys." Kirsten stepped into the hallway, pasting an intentionally over-bright smile on her face. Sandy kept walking towards her, smiling back, but Ryan and Seth's steps both faltered as they took in her pale skin, the cheekbones that stuck out too far, the blue eyes that didn't look as animated as they once had. Immediately, Kirsten was glad she hadn't told the boys, hadn't had them rush home while she was still in hospital, or just after she got out of the hospital. She knew Sandy was smiling because today was a good day. She wasn't curled up in the bathroom, ready to throw up or lying motionless in bed, unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling and listen to Sandy talk about his day. She wouldn't have wanted the boys to see her like that, as she'd seen her own mother. Of course, her mother had only undergone chemo for a few months, until she'd decided to die on her own terms, sick only from within, not from the chemicals the doctors were putting into her, hoping, but not really thinking they'd get a result.

"How was the flight?" Kirsten accepted a kiss from Sandy and walked slowly towards Ryan and Seth. She knew there were already question brewing beneath their equally ruffled brows, but she didn't want to answer them until she could have a moment of idle chitchat with them, some precious time without them knowing exactly how sick she was, or had been.

Ryan shot a glance at Seth and, after realising there was, strangely, no answer forthcoming there, he cleared his throat, dug around for a reply.

"Good, it was… Good." He nodded and Kirsten looked to Seth, who was still struggling.

"The flight was fine what's wrong with you?" In one breath Seth answered the question and issued his own. Kirsten sighed. She knew one of them would get to the point, and she'd assumed it would be Seth since Ryan would be too polite to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

"Guys, you'd better come sit down." Sandy's voice echoed down from the table, where he'd set out three cups of coffee, and a cup of tea for Kirsten since the doctor had advised her against caffeine. Shepherding them, Kirsten put an arm around Ryan's shoulders, but had to settle for squeezing Seth's hand as she could reach that far up without pain from the stitches.

Kirsten waited until everyone was settled, and two fearfully questioning faces were turned towards her. She licked her lips nervously, wondering exactly how to tell them. She'd been told about her mother by her father, who'd demanded that she get herself back there now to look after her. The words had been delivered sans compassion, and she didn't want to do that to Ryan and Seth.

Sandy's hand caught hers under the table, and she looked over at him, shaking her head slightly to let him know that it would have to be her who would speak. Looking back towards her sons, Kirsten started to speak.

**I know. It's been a long time between drinks at the fountain. Real life has been amazingly hectic for a while. Yes, I have a life, and yes I like to use it. To all those who have persevered and come back, thanks guys! Suggestions welcome for the next chapter; just what does Kirsten say? **


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